


What I'll Miss

by SkywardGeek



Series: Original Works [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24988516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkywardGeek/pseuds/SkywardGeek
Summary: There’s a saying. The best things in life are free. I’m pretty sure they are talking about love. And family. And friends. All of those are technically free (I mean they cost you time but if they are the best things time is definitely worth it). But there is one thing I am certain about. The worst things in life are also free.(This was written several years ago at my lowest - I would like to add that I no longer quite feel this ways. It's an uphill battle, but I'm getting there.)
Relationships: None
Series: Original Works [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/887826





	What I'll Miss

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Suicide Mention

****What I’ll Miss** **

It’s not romantic. I’ve never understood why people romanticise it. To make it seem so beautiful. It’s not. It never is. It’s a struggle. A fight. A war. One that I could not win. Because to win a war there has to be hope, a visible end. And depression, well depression strips that from you. Just as it strips away everything else. ****

****What You’ll Miss** **

There’s a saying. The best things in life are free. I’m pretty sure they are talking about love. And family. And friends. All of those are technically free (I mean they cost you time but if they are the best things time is definitely worth it). But there is one thing I am certain about. The worst things in life are also free. But they cost so much more than simply time. The worst thing that is costing me is depression. It is taking away my hope, my confidence, and I am pretty certain it is slowly taking my friends and family from me too.

Now when people talk about depression, most assume it is simply feeling sad, a touch of melancholy. It is and isn’t. It is all that, none of that, and so much more. Depression is the human mind’s almost incomprehensible ability to destroy itself. The amazing talent at tearing itself apart. Throwing a tantrum because it isn’t getting the right chemicals. But that tantrum is like a full on screaming three year old in the middle of a supermarket while every other shopper turns to stare at you. Basically it is tearful, embarrassing, makes you want to hide, and by the end of it no one has any idea why you were crying in the first place. But depression as a feeling, that’s a lot more complex. It varies person to person. For me it has always been a void. Just a black hole of nothingness. A black holes suck in light (I think? I dropped science after GCSE) and without any light to guide you, you can’t find a way out, slowly getting crushed by the pressure of it all. And with no way out there is no hope, no future. This inability to construct a future makes it very difficult to live. There’s an idea that you should live every day like it’s your last. What would you do? Eat all your favourite foods? See the sights of the world? Do everything you want to? Except the flavours become bland, and seeing the sights over and over makes them lose their meaning. And doing everything you want to? Well what if you don’t want to do anything? What then? Nothing holds your attention and the things you love to do become frustrating because… well, just because. There is no reason behind it. Just a lot of irritation that sometimes gets directed at the wrong people.

This is what I mean when I say depression is costing me my friends and family. I snap at them. I don’t mean to but everything, and I mean literally everything from the sound of them chewing to the inane jokes during movies to them trying to get me to eat properly. So I snap. Because the world grates on you. You become sick of everything around you. In my case this lead to the somewhat impulsive decision to move to away. Change of scenery and all of that. But it only helped for a few months at best before that feeling of apathy crept back. I just didn’t care. And not caring about the world makes you no longer wish to be a part of it. So I planned. Nothing set in stone, just ideas floating around. I could overdose, I could drink myself comatose, or I could simply go for hypothermia. Wait out in the cold, just eventually go numb. I stopped being scared of death after seeing a post on a blogging site called Tumblr. The post basically said they had a friend who officially died for a few minutes. The friend said death was nothing. No afterlife or anything. And that is what I wanted. Rest. Nothing more. Nothing after.

I am lucky enough to have people in my life who… not necessarily understand entirely but they certainly empathise. Everything they do, they mean well. My sister for example, she has helped get me out of situations that spark my anxiety. Like talking to strangers for the most benign things. At my cousin’s wedding she was kind enough to ask the waiter where the restrooms were, while I was struggling to breathe in my seat because I fear judgement on such a scale. She gets it like no one else I have ever met and I owe her so much. My friend, housemate, and she-might-as-well-be-my-sister, helped me by taking me to the doctor and staying with me while I tried to calm my anxiety in the waiting room. I don’t think I have ever known fear quite like it. But despite what must have undoubtedly been annoying fidgeting and shuffling she stayed. I am grateful for these people, and do consider myself incredibly lucky to have them in my life. But sometimes, just sometimes, it isn't enough.

So as a thought experiment, let's say I ended it. A ghost watching the rest of the world. What would come first? My funeral? No. That’s never the first part of dying. 

Discovery is.

Let's say I ended it with my current fantasy, going to the beach, watching the sun set, then swimming until I couldn't. So I drown. My work calls to find out where I am. No answer. They try again the next day. No answer. They know I have depression so maybe they start getting worried. Maybe. Or it's a week that goes by and my housemate, visiting for the weekend over summer, finds it weird I haven't been home for the two days that she's been there. I know she's meant to be there so surely I would want to hang out. But I'm no where to be found. She calls my phone a couple of times. No answer. She calls again a few days later, when she's returned to her home. Even tries the landline. Nothing. She's getting a little concerned. I've never been unreachable before. Sure, it might take me a day or two to reply to texts but there is always an answer. She was a couple of my friends on Facebook. She checks with them if they've heard anything. Nothing. Constant nothing. She holds off on contacting my family, in case she's making a big deal over the nothing that pervades. But eventually she realises she has to try. She contacts my sister through Facebook. My sister is abroad a lot, it's part of her job, so it takes a day or two to get a reply. But she tells my mum, my dad. Fear grips them but with little proof they try to fight through it. They drive to come see me. But I'm not there. My friend is still at her own house so there is no one to let them into the flat. They call, they wait, they call once more. They report me missing. Police go looking, come up with nothing. It's not that I've covered my tracks. It's that it is very hard to find someone who goes voluntarily missing. My bank account shows a train journey as my last act. The train went to Swansea. They find my bag on the beach. They know it's mine from my purse – cleared of any cash by thieves – with my ID inside. Or they find the notebook I tucked into a side pocket. One with passwords for social media accounts, my phone, anything and everything they might need to close my accounts. My bank account has some money, enough to pay my rent until the end of my tenancy. But not enough for council tax. Maybe both companies will let my family off of my debt. But that seems unlikely. The debt gets passed on. They have no body to bury or burn so they hold a memorial service. Simple. I never had a favourite flower so they opt for lilies, the funeral cliché. There is a large picture of me in the centre of a wreath. I would have hated it, I always hated myself in pictures. I always hated myself. It has to be a small service. There aren't many people I would have wanted there. But it isn't about me. This is giving those who knew me an opportunity to mourn and move on. I don't know if kind things would be said. Because to me, there are no kind things. Maybe after, at the Wake, people tell stories. The way I could never say 'three' when I was younger. The fact I gave my sister her nickname because I couldn't pronounce her name when I was little. Maybe my friends would tell my family of the stories, the fiction, I shared with them. Albeit gay fanfic, but it made me happy. But there would be anger there too. To me, to themselves, to the world, to the deities. 'Why would I do such a thing?' 'Why didn't I speak to her more, make sure she was okay?' A lot of whys that could never be answered.

And then there is the after. They keep on living. They live with what I've done. Maybe I simply passed on the metaphorical baton, others becoming depressed because of their perceived failings at helping me. Maybe I've freed them from me. On my darkest days, that's what it feels like. That I should free them, and the world, from myself. But they would carry on. Carry on knowing that I would never join them on their birthday again, or see them get married, or spend the rest of my life with them. There would be no more me and they would have to make peace with that. But how does a best friend make peace with the idea that she not going to be able to text her at any time of day just to bitch about her boss. How does a sister make peace with the idea that she won't have her entire family with her for her wedding. How does a mother, father, make peace with the fact they've outlived their baby girl.

You don’t make peace with it. You just miss them.

That’s what I’ll miss.

I’ll miss everything.


End file.
